Chapter 3: The Photograph
In the attic, behind a wall of dust and forgotten boxes, I found it — a photograph.
A little boy stood beside a woman in white. Her smile looked forced, her hand clutching his shoulder too tightly.
Anna came in as I turned the picture over.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“No idea,” I lied, though my heart knew better.
That night, I dreamed of rushing water — a river swallowing the boy whole while the woman screamed his name.
When I woke, the window was open, curtains soaked with rain.
Cliffhanger: In the garden below, something small and pale glimmered beneath the soil — a child’s shoe.
